Peace Within and Love Without
by yurImperial
Summary: I expected to fall in love with another girl. That isn't the problem. What I didn't expect was to fall in love with a dead girl. Ghost!Anna, Medium/Ghost Whisperer!Elsa, Modern AU. Non-incest. Based on an Elsanafervor Tumblr suggestion.
1. Chapter 1

**Based on the ghost!Anna suggestion on the Elsannafervor Tubmlr. It has such great potential so I couldn't help but write it.**

 **-yurImperial**

* * *

: : Prologue : :

* * *

Being a ghost isn't all bad. Don't believe me?

I don't need to eat or sleep (duh).

I don't have any chores (one of the benefits of being stuck in this plane; no ghost parents).

I can appear wherever I want (even though I can't be away from the cemetery for too long).

I can make myself visible or invisible to the living at will (who wouldn't enjoy invisibility?).

I can phase though solid objects (another fun ability).

So yeah, it's not the worst thing in the world. Even preferable to some things, like suffering a concussion in a head-on collision and waiting for the blood to pool in your skull as you lie helpless on a dark street. By comparison, being dead is actually quite pleasant. I can daydream all I want and I don't have any obligations; no more _Anna, do your chores, Anna, don't stay out late, Anna, don't eat sweets before dinner._

And well, of course there are some things that I miss. Like eating chocolate. I may not need to eat anymore, but it was certainly an enjoyable necessity on occasion. These days I mostly spend my daydreams reminiscing about sweets.

That's another thing: time. I have all the time in the world, but not much to occupy it. Aside from the aforementioned daydreaming, there's really very little I can do, considering my particular curfew. You see, as a ghost, I'm bound to the cemetery where my remains reside; I can only leave on nights of the full moon or when enough spiritual energy has built up.

But more than anything, I miss my friends and family. It's rather lonely here in the cemetery, as I'm sure you understand. There is one other ghost - a little boy - but all he does is cry and that's no fun. Oh sure, living people stop by to visit their loved ones once in a blue moon, but showing myself to them more often leads to panic than conversation, so eventually I gave up trying. Romance, of course, is completely out of the question, a notion that can only exist in my daydreams.

Man, being a ghost really sucks.

* * *

: : Chapter 1 : :

* * *

"Where did you say this cemetery was?" I ask apprehensively as Kristoff's jeep turns onto Highway 95. Beside the stop sign is another sign reading: "WARNING: Blind curves - approach with caution." True to its word, a car appears suddenly out of the darkness as if passing through a black curtain just twenty feet from where we idle at the intersection. The glare of its headlights spears through the darkness and races around the next bend at sixty miles per hour. As I listen to the screeching of brakes trailing after it, I can't help but imagine a tortured spectre shrieking its soul's agony into the night, here and gone so fast that we mistake it for just another car.

"Not much farther, Els." Kristoff says without looking at me. His eyes are still searching the darkness, cautious for oncoming danger before pulling out onto the dark road.

"Don't tell me you're scared of a stupid highway," Hans scoffs from the left-most back seat. When I glance at him in the rear-view mirror, his arms are crossed over his chest in contempt and a scowl is planted firmly on his face. I don't know why he came with us tonight; he's made his point clear that he has no superstitions. Not that skepticism is a bad thing. I didn't believe in ghosts either, until I talked to my grandpa at his funeral when I was six.

A hand comes up next to my seat and rests reassuringly on my shoulder, bringing a pleased smile to my face.

"With good reason, all things considered," Rapunzel says from behind me, coming to my rescue. "Given the track record, I wouldn't come this way unless my life depended on it."

Highway 95 is infamous. To this date, there have been nearly twenty deaths from motor accidents on its treacherous breakneck curves, my mother being just one of the casualties. I can actually _feel_ the weight of death dragging at my senses here, like the numbing cold of winter. I'm afraid to look out the passenger window for fear of seeing dead faces flash by, afraid of seeing their features twisted in pain and pale as moonlight. I don't fear them any more than one fears visiting a loved one in the hospital; the ones who suffered in death are usually the most painful to encounter.

"You okay, Elsa?"

I look up at Kristoff and meet his eyes for a moment before he turns them back to the road. A frown crinkles in the lines around his eyes, though his lips are pressed tight in concentration as he drives. It's his _I-know-you-can-handle-this-but-tell me-if-something-isn't-okay_ face. I've been seeing it for over a decade; I wouldn't miss it, now or any other time.

"Yeah." I stretch the word out into a long sigh, almost wincing at how unsure it sounds. "The sooner we get off of the highway, the better."

We fall into quiet anticipation for the next few minutes, until Eugene speaks up. In all this time, not a single car passes us.

"So what's the story about this particular ghost?"

"There have been rumors of people hearing the sound of someone crying near a cemetery on the outskirts of Minton," Kristoff says, casting an proud glance at me. "That's where our resident Ghost Whisperer here comes in."

Eugene's face lights up in excitement while I turn red in embarrassment.

"You mean you're going to exorcise it?"

Hans grunts and rolls his eyes, which I ignore.

"Not exactly. When a spirit is unable to pass on, it's because of regret, un-finished business, or an unresolved conflict. Since I can see ghosts better than most people, I can sometimes talk them into passing on. It really depends on the personality, though."

Eugene is practically bouncing with excitement. This is his first time on a "ghost hunt" with us; he lives out-of-state and is visiting Rapunzel for the weekend. She told him all about our adventures and he couldn't be happier for the chance to join us. In stark contrast is Hans, who looks like he wants to be anywhere but here.

Oh well, too late now.

When a black iron gate rises up ahead of us, Kristoff decelerates and flicks his turn signal on. Hanging above the gate between two tall posts is a wooden sign. I have to crane my head back to read it as we pass beneath.

-Old Minton Cemetery-

Kristoff parks a respectful distance from the first line of gravestones and gets out first to rummage for a lanterning in the back of the jeep. Eugene and Rapunzel talk excitedly, their voices low.

"So, are you nervous, Elsa?"

The voice emanates from the darkness just behind my left ear and I imagine the speaker leaning up over the console to whisper to me. Though I can't see, I'm able to identify Eugene's earnest voice.

"Not really. Despite what the movies would have you think, spirits are rather harmless. But my job becomes a lot harder if they are unable to understand that I'm trying to help them, or they simply refuse to listen. There's nothing I can do at that point."

My grandpa had been a hard one for me to reason with. He was as stubborn in death as he was in life, and as surprising and frightening as it had been to see his ghost when I was only six, I sat with him through almost the entire funeral ceremony. Of course, when they found me, the adults thought the stress of the funeral had gotten to me. What else would they think when they saw me talking to an invisible entity? But my mother could see him. That was when we discovered that we shared an entire world most can't see, and we grew much closer as a result.

"You really care about these poor lost souls, don't you?" Eugene's voice pulls me out of the memory, but before I can respond, light flares to life behind the jeep. Kristoff comes around with the lit lantern and motions for us to join him. When we're all gathered around the globe of light, Rapunzel's voice breaks the stillness in a respectful whisper.

"Ok, the plan is to search for the ghost. If we find it, the rest of us comeback to the jeep and wait while Elsa talks to it alone. Do you have your flashlight?"

I hold up the tool clutched to my chest, a heavy thing of metal and giant batteries that rivals the lantern in power.

"Aw, we can't watch?" Eugene's face falls in disappointment.

"Sorry, we risk overwhelming the spirit if too many people approach. One person is a lot easier to open up to than five."

"Hmph, then what was the point in any of us coming if we won't even see one of your so-called ghosts?" Hans accuses.

"Oh, you'll see one alright." Without waiting for his response, I turn and stride into the cemetery, Kristoff right on my heels and the others close behind.

We spend the next twenty minutes combing the rows and rows of gravestones for any sign of activity. I definitely feel a strong presence, but it seems as if it's hiding itself. We march on in solemn silence, staying just within the reach of the lantern's light. Twigs, leaves, and dry grass crunch beneath our feet like bones; I wonder how long it's been since these grounds were tended? Perhaps the spirit that people have been hearing kept the grounds keepers away?

"This is getting ridiculous. Are we just gonna walk all-"

Before Hans can finish his thought, a sharp wail splits the night, making us all jump. Kristoff swings the lantern around, casting dancing shadows across every surface. Hans goes silent, his complaint instantly forgotten. Rapunzel reaches for Eugene's hand and they wind their fingers together, shoulders brushing.

The more I listen, the more my heart is filled with an inexplicable feeling of... helplessness? I reminds me of the time I got lost on our middle school field trip to the zoo. We were going to see the monkeys but I wanted to see the penguins, so I slipped away on my own to find them. I felt completely lost and helpless among the crowd until one of the teachers found me. I know this feeling must be important now, so I allow it to guide me like a tether attached to my heart.

The feeling grows along with the wailing as we approach the far corner of the cemetery. A chill passes through the group, but I barely notice it through the tightening of my chest. Rapunzel calls out, pointing, and the group erupts into chatter.

"Look!"

"It sounds like a little boy-"

"Is that a light?"

"Where is it?"

"Guys!"

Everyone falls silent at my outburst. The wailing subsides for a moment and I fear that we scared the spirit away, but it resumes sobbing. I continue in a softer voice.

"We have to stay quiet. Think of it as a frightened deer."

Despite my warning, a collective gasp goes up when the spirit comes into view.

"It _is_ a little boy," Rapunzel whispers sadly. She tightens her grip on Eugene's arm.

Indeed, the spirit sitting behind its own gravestone has the appearance of a boy no more than five years old. He has a light-blue aura that shimmers like a soft light seen through water, turning his features watery and indistinct. He sits with his back against the stone, curled in on himself as he cries into his knees.

I wish I could feel smug about Hans' expression as his contempt melts away, but now my only concern is the spirit of the little boy. Kristoff's big hand falls on my shoulder and I look up into my friend's comforting eyes.

"It's all you, Els. We'll be waiting. Call us if you need anything."

I nod and watch the group pick their way back through the cemetery until I can no longer discern their silhouettes within the lantern's glow. The feeling of loneliness tugs me back to the cooler ethereal light of the spirit. I open myself up to the emotion so I can better understand the little boy, making myself vulnerable enough to share what he's feeling.

My breath is now a white mist every time I exhale. I dig my fingertips into the cuffs of my sweater and curl them around my knuckles for warmth. This type of temperature change is a reaction to stress and is often a reason spirits are accidentally located by the living. I always wear my faded jeans and ice-blue sweater when we go on these ghost hunts for the protection they provide from the cold. Kristoff likes to refer to them as my "Ghost Hunter Gear."

I manage to come within a few feet of the spirit before he notices me. He looks up at me with confused, watery eyes and my heart nearly breaks in two.

"Hey there," I softly coo at him as I kneel down a respectful distance away. Getting closer to his height should make me less frightening than standing and towering over him, and while his wailing does subside for the moment, he still sobs and sniffles. If I peer closely through the aura of spiritual energy surrounding him, I can just make out the glassy teardrops wobbling down his cheeks. There's something hauntingly beautiful about the crystalline transparency of a spirit's appearance; I never understood how people came to be frightened by them.

"That's it, don't cry."

I continue shushing the boy with gentle placations until he only whimpers. I take this opportunity to shuffle closer bit by bit until I'm seated just two feet away form him.

"Don't worry, I just want to help. Are you lost?"

That was a bad thing to say. As if reminding him of why he was crying in the first place, his lower lip starts to quiver and his brows knit together. I hurriedly attempt to staunch the next outburst before it starts.

"Well I'm lost, too. It's not so bad if we're lost together, is it?"

His expression doesn't change for the better, but he doesn't start crying again either; my cue to keep going.

"Will you be my Lost Buddy?"

I throw in my nicest smile, the one I developed during my childhood to prize extra treats from my parents after dinner and repeat bedtime stories. If my other spirit encounters were anything to go by, I'd say I've perfect the technique. It's no less effective on this little boy, as he stares at me suspiciously for a moment before cautiously nodding.

"If we're gonna be Lost Buddies, we should know each other's names, right?"

Another nod.

"Mine's Elsa. What's yours?"

"Elsa?" His voice is meek and barely audible, but a verbal response is a great sign indeed.

"Yup! Want to tell me yours?"

He looks down at his knees for a long moment.

"Not supposed... talk to strangers..."

"But we're not strangers anymore. We're Lost buddies, aren't we?"

He hesitates before nodding again. When his lips for the shape of his name, it's much more confident and, dare I say, cheerful?

"Olaf."

I repeat his name back to him, just as he did to me.

"That's a cute name, you know that? I bet your parents adore it."

Out of nowhere, Olaf starts bawling again. He buries his face in his knees, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably. My eyes widen at the unexpected shift in attitude.

"No no no, don't cry, sweety. What's wrong?"

What did I say? What did I do to trigger him?

Then the emotion pouring into me from Olaf suddenly has a different name. _Abandonment_. I still don't know his story, but a rough picture is starting to form in my mind. I might as well start feeling around in the dark for more information.

"Do you miss your parents, Olaf?"

Without looking at me or even ceasing his crying, he nods his head into his knees. Tiny hands come up to fist in his hair and the intensity if his wailing reaches painful heights. They pierce my eardrums and I'm certain that Kristoff and the others can hear it from the jeep. Hopefully they don't come back to see what's going on. Olaf's in no state to be surrounded.

"I'm sure they're looking for you," I tell him softly, but he shakes his head vigorously and looks up at me. His aura is too blurry now to make out his features very clearly, like trying to see though a windshield obscured by pounding rain.

"They left me... I've been gone so long... they're not coming... I'm sorry... Mommy... I shouldn't have... run away..."

My hand flies to my chest as the pieces slowly come together. It sounds like Olaf got separated from his parents, similar to the time I got lost at the zoo... but unfortunately, he was never returned safely. He's been waiting here as a spirit ever since. He might have even ran to them at the funeral and assumed they were ignoring him when they simply couldn't see him. Spirits are very weak soon after death and can't project themselves to the living until they accumulate enough spirit energy. Being a Medium, I can see them no matter what.

Unsure of what to say or how to even get though Olaf's deafening voice, I pull out my heavy-duty flash light and lean it on a rock pointing at the face of a large gravestone before us. It creates a large circle of illumination, or as I plan to treat it, a stage. Without a word, I hold my hands up back-to-back in the beam. I extend an index and middle finger toward me to imitate long, floppy ears and form a ball with the other hand for a small body and head. I then bounce them through the air and the shadow hops like a bunny across the circle of light. Curious, Olaf looks up without missing a beat in his screeching.

Now that I have his attention, my confidence grows. I hook my thumbs together and fan my other fingers out to the sides, folding and un-furling them to simulate the flapping of wings. Olaf is still crying, but it's no longer deafening. My hands quickly morph into another shape, one hand curled on top of the other, the lower knuckles pointed forward and jutting out slightly more toward the bottom like a chin. I extend one finger to complete the face seen in profile with a comically long nose. This shifts into another image as I move my right hand upside-down on top of my left, both pairs of pointer and middle fingers extended forward, and move the lower pair down and up while making quacking sounds.

The crying drops away altogether and I hear what sounds like a cross between a laugh and a hiccup next to me. Time to seal the deal. Making a great show of the motion, I wave my whole right arm into the beam of the flashlight. My fingers curl down toward my forearm while my the back of my hand pulls back to my shoulder. My left hand fans out behind the crook of my elbow, completing the shadow-image of a regal swan. For added effect, I twist my right hand back to my splayed fingers and simulate preening.

When I finally look over at Olaf, he's watching my shadow puppet display too intently to even sniffle. Fearing that stopping will shatter the calm, I go back to the bird in flight and flap it around while speaking.

"Olaf, you're much too sweet for your parents to leave you behind. Sometimes parents aren't very good at being parents, but that doesn't mean they don't love you. I'm sure they miss you very much and want nothing more than for you to be happy and safe."

When my words are met with silence, I continue. My bird shapeshifts back into a rabbit.

"You don't want them to worry, do you? Isn't that why you're upset?"

Olaf nods, his lower lip quivering again.

"I didn't mean... run away... didn't mean... make Mommy and Daddy sad..."

"Can you be a big boy for me, Olaf? For your mommy and daddy?"

Olaf nods again, more energetically.

"Can you smile for me?"

The shimmering quality of his aura dissipates as easily as rainclouds in the sun. His head whips up and down, a bright grin breaking across his face. His features are crystal clear and I'm struck by how precious he is, by the cruelty of his untimely death. The longer I look upon him, the brighter he glows until his skin is as transparent as glass.

"That's my Lost Buddy."

He gets up and runs at me, arms outstretched like he wants to give me a hug. Startled, I open my arms to receive him even as he disappears in a flash of light against my chest. A cold wind gusts through my body, sending ice through my veins and blowing my mind clear of everything but an acute childlike joy. For that moment, I feel as if I could sail though the wind with Olaf and flutter high over the countryside, free of earthly attachment. It only lasts for a moment, and then I'm kneeling alone in a dark cemetery as a chill autumn breeze whips my hair into my face.

I sit for a long moment in quiet contemplation until I feel eyes upon me. Looking around, I see a bubble of warm light bouncing towards me and rise to meet the group half-way.

"Is it done?" Kristoff asks as soon as I enter the light. I'm already starting to feel warmer.

"Yes, he's passed on."

I take the following silence as a request for more details and notice that Hans is the only one absent. He must have stayed at the jeep when the others came running.

"Let's head back; I'll fill you in on the way home."

Kristoff, and surprisingly Hans, listen quietly as I explain Olaf's story on the drive back. Rapunzel clucks in sympathy for the boy while Eugene enthusiastically prods me for further details. Hans stares out his window the entire way, not a word of skepticism passing his lips.

At some point I, too, fall silent and stare at the dark scenery moving by outside. No matter how many times I told myself that Olaf was at peace, I couldn't shake the feeling of eyes on me even as we left. I figured it was just Kristoff and the others at first, but then I felt it again near the gates as we passed under the Old Minton Cemetery sign and turned onto Highway 95. Just before falling asleep slumped against the passenger door, I resolve to return tomorrow and check to make sure I completed the job. Poor Olaf deserves peace.

In my dreams on the ride home, I'm sitting on a hill with two people, a little boy and a girl about my age. I can see Olaf as clear as day on my left, but the girl is silhouetted against the setting sun, a golden corona haloing her figure. Despite the warmth of the dream, I shiver in my seat.


	2. Chapter 2

: : Chapter 2 : :

* * *

The whole next day, I'm overcome with a peculiar feeling. Some people call it the evil eye, while others would say someone has walked over my grave. My mother would have called it an omen or a premonition - of what, I can't be sure, except that it must be linked to last night's graveyard visit. I want to go back as soon as I can to make sure that little Olaf definitely isn't still hanging around all alone, but instead I'm stuck here in a chemistry lecture.

"Psst."

A wad of paper lands on my notebook. It takes me longer that it should to notice, which concerns me slightly, but I brush the thought aside. Glancing over, I see Kristoff making a face at me, one eyebrow arched in question. I narrow my eyes at him and hold his gaze for several seconds before giving in and unfolding the paper.

 _Baggy eyes,_ _wan complexion,_ _lack of focus - you didn't sleep well, did you?_

I smirk and shake my head in exasperation. Kristoff may be the most burly guy on the university's football team, but his true nature is closer to a worrisome old granny. Not that he can't throw his weight around if he needs to, but he's usually too busy acting like an over-protective older brother. I mean, he _is_ getting a medical degree, after all; he's more on the healing side of things, even if he's riding a scholarship for one of the more violent sports, in the process.

After scratching a generic response writing off his concern, I pass the paper back and try to absorb something from the lecture. It isn't exhaustion tugging at my mind, although to Kristoff's credit, I hadn't slept more than a few hours last night. No, it's this urgent assuredness that I'm _missing_ something. When I try to concentrate on the feeling, what jumps to my mind's eye is a dream I had nearly forgotten - the dream I had in the car last night, of Olaf and that other ghostly girl. If I close my eyes, I can almost see her face through the light of the sun setting behind her. Almost-

A wad of paper smacks me in the face and I jerk back to consciousness, arms flailing and nearly flailing out of my seat. My eyes fly open wide as I glance around quickly, as sure that I just made a fool of myself as the rush of adrenaline pounding through my system. But luckily I hadn't made any noise and no one in the lecture hall seems to have noticed. Except for the culprit, Kristoff, who's trying his damn best not to laugh out loud. He mouths 'sorry' but I just give him the cold shoulder as I lean over to scoop up the offending note and unfurl it with a scowl.

 _Having a nice dream, or are you researching narcolepsy over there?_

My scowl deepens and I resolve to ignore Kristoff until the end of class. I can't stay upset any longer than that, especially not at him. I just don't want to admit that he's right. I'm stubborn like that, and no amount of sleep deprivation can change that fact.

* * *

When I find myself turning onto Highway 95 in a daze, I realize that it might not have been the best idea to head straight to Minton without even taking a nap first. No amount of reasoning with myself, no matter how many times I tell myself that I trying to sleep would be pointless as long as I'm still worrying about this, makes it any less of a horrible idea. My movements feel sluggish, my eyesight is blurry, and I'm merging onto the most dangerous roadway on the east coast. My only saving grace is that by not waiting to go later, it's still daylight.

Kristoff would still give me an ear-full if he found out.

Somehow, I make it to the Old Minton gate without driving into a ditch or swerving into on-coming traffic. I quickly park and once the engine is off, I lean my forehead against the steering wheel and try not to pass out. Giving myself a pep talk helps. I just need to check to see if Olaf is still here. An hour should be long enough to determine that, then I can go home and finally sleep. Just one hour. I can do that.

Sitting up, I drag in a deep breath and throw the door open, force my legs one after the other, left, right, left, right, just like marching band in high school. It also helps if I count steps, so I do that until I reach the top of the small rise in the geography of the cemetery. A single tree sits in a blanket of its own leaves atop the hill overlooking the gravestones. As my eyes start to droop, I tell myself that I might as well set against it as I wait for any signs of spirit activity. This is my second worst idea of the day, as I succumb to sleep the instant my back touches the bark.

* * *

Upon waking up, the first thing I notice is the chill. It drives bone-deep, and my third poor decision - forgetting to dress warmer - makes itself known. I guess I'm incapable of making sound choices when I'm tired.

I yawn and wrap my sleeves around my knees. My eyes have to crack open a seal of dried sleep crusties and for a moment, I'm certain that I'm dreaming the very same dream that has been haunting me. A girl leans against the tree next to me, the fiery display of sunset washing out all identifying features - only, the sky is oddly dark for a sunset. I glance over to my left, expecting to see Olaf's ghost seated beside me, but I'm shocked to see no such thing. When I look back at the girl, it doesn't seem nearly as bright anymore, but my sleep-muddled thoughts take ages to process what I'm thinking.

"Oh!"

I finally jerk fully awake as I feel the weight of spiritual energy crashing down. The face staring intently at me resolves into a constellation of freckles like pinpoints of honeyed light, framed by hair the sultry shade of sunset. Where Olaf's aura had been a cool Atlantic blue, this spirit's aura is radiant gold. The sky is pitch black and lit by a mere crescent of the moon high overhead. Definitely no sunset.

But more importantly, _there's a different spirit here_.

"Um, hi. Have you seen the spirit of a little boy around here?"

The girl spirit looks around as if expecting someone else to answer me. I just blink up at her.

"Yes, you."

Still not comprehending, she leans out of my line of sight. I follow her with my eyes. She leans the other way and I retain eye contact the whole time. When she blinks, I blink back.

"Wait, you can see me?!"

I nod, then scramble after her when she retreats behind the tree.

"Come back!"

"Uh, sorry! I didn't mean to wake you!"

I circle around the tree chasing the spirit, but every time I catch up to warm glow, it disappears again.

"Why are you running from me?"

"I don't knoooow!"

I quickly realize the futility of this plan and stop to catch my breath. Still thinking I'm chasing her, the spirit sneakily phases through the tree trunk only to squeak in surprise when she ends up right in front of me.

"Are you done... running?" I ask between breaths.

She considers it.

"Please! I just want to talk."

This seems to take her aback. Her eyes widen perceptibly and her lips part.

"No one's tried talking to me before. They usually just run away."

"So instead, you run?"

"You're the only one I couldn't make myself invisible to. It confused me..."

Between her child-like mannerism and adorable pout, I find myself unable to stop smiling.

"You're cute, erm..."

"Anna," she says, perking up.

"Anna, I'm Elsa. I'm sorry to disturb you tonight, but I'm looking for the spirit of a little boy named Olaf. He was here just last night. You haven't seen him, have you?"

Anna bites her lip, thinking. Her aura dims for a moment before flaring back up again.

"There was another spirit, but he was never willing to talk to me." She sniffs as if holding a childish grudge against him. "I haven't seen him since. Sorry, were you related to him?"

"No!" I wave my hands for emphasis. "No, that's good, actually. I helped him pass on and just wanted to make sure he really left."

Anna cocks her head to the side, suddenly more interested.

"Oh? Are you one of those-"

"-ghost whisperer-"

"-that's it! You talk to ghosts, huh?"

She grins brightly and her aura flares up even more. In the dark of night, it's so brilliant that I have to shield my eyes with a forearm. Seeing this, her happy expression suddenly disappears and it feels like rainclouds chasing away the sun.

"Oh- I'm so sorry, I really need to watch that."

Anna fidgets as her aura dims to the faint glow of a candle. As much as I don't want to go blind, I can't stand to see her so muted and apologetic.

"It's okay, really. Your aura is... it's, um, quite beautiful."

At the mention of her aura, it starts to blaze up again. Anna just manages to keep it in check so that it doesn't go beyond the brightness of a fluorescent light bulb.

"Y-You really think so?"

I nod, my smile growing even wider.

"It's warm and inviting. I can't believe no one wanted to talk to you - although if you were hiding yourself, I guess that wouldn't help..."

Anna's smile turns wistful as she clasps her hands behind her back.

"Warm... that's not possible, I'm afraid."

Now that she mentions it, I nearly forgot how cold I was. An involuntary shiver visibly runs through me, one which Anna doesn't miss.

"Sorry! You're cold and I'm just making it worse."

She reaches out to me before stopping herself, an apologetic expression crossing her face as her aura gutters down to nothing like a candle in the wind. Fearful that she's going to leave again, I try to think of a reason for her to stay. I need to observe her more if I'm going to help her pass on, but so far I can't figure out what might still be holding her back. She's the most cheerful spirit I've ever encountered, and aside from apologizing a lot, she seems really carefree. I don't think this case will be as quick as Olaf's.

"Do you want me to go?" I ask Anna honestly. If I'm going to get to understand her situation eventually, I don't want to get her too worked up. She seems to be a flight risk and there's simply no way I'm equipped to track down a wandering spirit. It's also already far later than I meant to stay out, thanks to my nap. I'll have to win Anna over gradually.

"No, you're gorgeous company - er, great company! That's what I meant. I mean, unless you want to leave, that is."

I laugh again and the sound seems to calm Anna down somewhat.

"It's late, so I should get going. Is it okay if I maybe come back to visit?"

Anna's aura flares up unrestrained. I try not to flinch too much so I don't hurt her feelings.

"I'd love that! Please, please do!"

I giggle again, something I'm noticing happens a lot when I'm around Anna.

"Well, bye then."

I smile and give a small wave, which Anna returns enthusiastically by swinging her whole arm at the shoulder. I continue laughing all the down the hill back to my car. Even as I pull out onto the highway, I can still see a glimmer of light beneath the tree. I finally have an answer for the unusually large source of spirit power I felt last night, and the feeling of being watched as we left. Anna must have hidden while I dealt with Olaf and I wasn't aware enough to notice, since there was only one report of a ghost in the area. Now I'm glad I came back, otherwise I wouldn't be able to help such a nice girl find her own peace.

As I drive back, I crank up the heater and let my head fill with the memory of Anna's light. I only manage to convince myself that the two are connected once I get home and it's too late to enjoy the fantasy.

* * *

 **Phew. Second chapter this weekend. I knew doing two stories at once would be hectic, but I just couldn't wait to get to the Elsanna contact (even though it's still mostly just leading into the actual interaction, but whatever, pacing is important), so I pushed this one out today. This is going to take over my life, I just know it. Hope you all enjoy, and don't be too shy to tell me what you think so far~**

 **-yurImperial**

 **Edit: Fixed some typing errors. I need to stop writing at 3 AM. Thanks, Amnestyyy, for pointing these errors out so I could fix them~**


	3. Chapter 3

: : Chapter 3 : :

* * *

Returning to consciousness is like slogging through a sea of molasses. Darkness gums up the inner mechanisms of my brain, fighting to keep me in its grip all the harder as I claw my way to wakefulness. Just opening my eyes is tantamount to attempting a deadlift using just my eyelids. My room gradually comes into blurry focus as if I've been in a coma for years and they aren't used to focusing or receiving light. At first, I can't even remember what day it is or when I laid down to sleep. I turn my head drowsily to see my alarm clock flashing 12:37. Adrenaline shoots through me and I surge to my feet, but I quickly double back over from the dizzying rush of blood to my head. Groaning, I roll over onto my side and glare at the clock.

I missed both of my classes today.

It's shocking to see just how much sleep I've lost to my spiritual escapades this past week. This is the very last thing I need with a big neurobiology exam coming up; without proper REM sleep cycles to ensure maximum memory retention, I'll have to study that much more. I can get the notes I missed today from Kristoff, but if this keeps up, I'll be in trouble. Whatever, I'm not awake enough to think about this just yet. What I need is a nice hot shower and coffee, but first I spend a few more minutes rousing myself to start the day. As I pass my calendar on the way to the bathroom, I stop to write in a few extra study sessions, eying with dread the big red circle on the last Thursday of the month.

Shortly I'm feeling much better, enveloped in the warmth of a hot shower. Just the act of doing something, especially if it's a routine, activates my body and gets my brain turning. I tend to do my best thinking in the shower, which isn't all that surprising if you've studied the endocrine system. Dopamine production is higher during relaxing activities; high dopamine levels and the distractions offered by banal tasks aid your brain in making subconscious connections between ideas, which contributes to creative thought processes. Pretty simple, really.

As I scour shampoo suds from my hair, a troubling thought occurs to me: maybe it would be best if I stopped with the spiritual dealings for a year or two. My counselor told me that a Behavioral Neuroscience degree would basically be a Bio-Psych double-major. I'm prepared for the workload that entails, but it demands a lot of sacrifice. Wise upperclassmen often tell you on entering university that between sleep, studies, and social life, you can only pick two - sometimes only one, degree depending. The truth is that right now, I just need to focus on studies and be the good girl I need to be, to get exceptional grades and pass my classes with flying colors. If neglecting sleep is going to negatively impact my grades, then I guess it's clear what must be sacrificed.

I sigh as suds and warm water wash down my face. The spiritual side of my life is definitely an integral part; it remains my biggest connection to my mother in death - not in the sense that I can still talk to her, as she passed on without becoming a ghost - but as an emotional connection. She taught me to pity the lost souls and to care for them, for it is always a great sorrow that holds them back. She taught me what a gift it is to communicate with them and that there is no greater deed than to set a suffering mind to ease. This has shaped and defined my life - yes, truthfully, I wouldn't be studying the human brain and cognition at all if not for my spiritual connection. That fascination with how people think, why we make our decisions, what motivates and mentally cripples us, it all grew from how my mother taught me to care for other people. To cut that away from my life, even briefly, feels like an amputation, a transgression against her memory.

The water starts to noticeably cool, at first a gradual change from hot to warm, then to tepid, and suddenly to ice cold. I yelp and leap away from the freezing spray in a panic, stand shivering for several long seconds as my mind scrambles over itself, then finally reach back through the shower to turn it off, hissing as needle-points of cold strike my skin. Without bothering to pull back the shower curtain, I thrust my arm out to feel for a towel, but pull it back in just as quickly. It felt like I stuck my arm into an open freezer! I yank back the shower curtain and gasp.

A person. A stranger. A stranger in my bathroom. What is a stranger doing _in my bathroom_?

My senses come to painfully sharp focus as a combination of adrenaline from the shock and shock from the cold courses through my system: the heaviness of steam still in my lungs, the prickle of cold pimpling my bare skin, the plucky sound of residual dripping from the shower faucet, the golden light suffusing the room. That's when I realize that the intruder, the girl, has no shadow. Or any matter at all, really, because she's a ghost. In fact, now that my system has had several crucial seconds to acclimate to the situation, I recognize the ghost girl. With this realization dawning on me, I gap open-mouthed, the curtain still drawn back half-way.

"Anna?!"

Anna seems just as surprised by this development as I am. She glances around gradually, taking in the mess of hair-styling paraphernalia scattered about the sink, my clothes from last night piled in a heap on the floor, the snowman-decal shower curtain still clutched in my hand, and finally me.

"Oh. Oh! I'm sorry! You're hot- cold! I meant _cold_. I'm making you cold. S-Sorry!"

Following her gaze, my eyes drop to my chest where my body is being completely obvious with its response to the temperature. Gasping, I twitch the curtain in front of me to hide the display, which finally reminds Anna to give me some privacy. So does so, turning to face the door, so I take the opportunity to grab a towel and dry myself off. In rather endearing fashion, she continues to stammer apologies the whole while, her back rigid as if fighting a strong urge to peek.

"Um, I'm sorry, Elsa. I didn't know you were busy, honest! I waited until afternoon so that this kind of thing _wouldn't_ happen. But of course I screwed that up, and on top of it all I embarrassed you and this isn't going at all like I-"

"Anna, it's okay." I cut in as I step out of the shower, towel wrapped snugly around me. "No harm done."

She stays stock-still until I come around into her field of vision and she sees that I'm no longer completely nude. I make my way to the sink, careful not to walk through Anna - that feeling of sticking my arm into a freezer earlier must have been from passing though her ghostly body - and set in on doing my hair. Uninvited ghost or not, I intend to finish my daily routine, late though it may be. Anna comes up to hover behind me, her reflection (yes, ghosts have those, at least when I'm the one looking; don't ask me how) showing a mixture of curiosity and remorse.

"How exactly did you get here, Anna? I thought ghosts were confined to their resting place," I ask while running a brush through my hair. Anna's golden aura flares up with pride, flooding the bathroom with rays of sunshine.

"I remembered what your energy felt like, so I focused on it and just kind... jumped. And I ended up here."

I pause my brushing and stare back into the mirror.

"You did what? I didn't know that was possible."

Anna shrugs.

"Oh, sure. I don't do it often; it takes a lot of energy, but I just need a strong-enough source of spirit energy to latch onto." She smiles brightly at me. "It turns out you give off a _ton_. Like, seriously, how are you not swarmed by other ghosts? You're like an all-you-can-eat buffet."

Anna reaches out to touch me and a sensation like frigid water being poured down my back makes me flinch. She pulls her hand away and quickly backs up to the opposite wall, a long string of apologies tumbling from her mouth faster than I can keep track of. With a residual shiver squirming through me, I set my brush down on the counter-top and turn to face Anna.

"Hey, it's okay, it was an accident."

Anna doesn't seem to be listening to me; instead, she stares at the hand that touched me as if it was burned.

"You're so warm..."

When she meets my eyes again, I can see longing and regret swirling like a whirlpool in her sad eyes.

"Anna, why did you come looking for me?" I ask gently.

"I wanted to say that I'm sorry for surprising you last night," she admits bashfully. "I hope I didn't scare you?"

Knowing what someone is thinking is hard when you can't get inside her head, which usually requires surgery or an EEG. Luckily, body language can hint at a lot of those things, often without her even knowing what her body is giving away. Right now, Anna is standing with her back to a wall, something people do to create a sense of protection when they're uncomfortable with an environment; the wall may not provide any tangible defense for Anna now, but the behavior carries over from when she was alive. Her left arm is crossed over her middle and her right hand is fidgeting with one of her braids, both classic signs of nervousness. But what doesn't seem to add up is that she holds eye contact with me while keeping her face angled away. When showing shame, a person with confidence holds herself high while owning up to a mistake; an insecure person avoids eye-contact altogether. I can't help but feel skeptical that an apology is her true motivation in coming here, especially when she already apologized last night.

Her body language suggests that she's not so much anxious or ashamed, but... flustered?

"It's okay, really, Anna. You don't have to keep apologizing." I give her a calming smile. "You're really sweet."

This seems to cheer her up immensely. She returns my smile and noticeably relaxes. It's a strange contradiction of the senses for something to so resemble the sun despite feeling so cold to the touch. I go back to brushing out the rest of my hair so that it doesn't dry messy. Anna hangs back quietly and watches as I blow-dry it, looking like she wants to say something more. I consider just asking her, but decide that it might be more useful to observe her naturally. If I'm going to help her pass on- no, I need to stop thinking like that. This habit of over-extending myself has got to stop. It's for the best.

When I'm done drying and plaiting my hair, I go to my bedroom to get dressed. I'm done with classes for today and there's nothing else I need to go out for, so I'll make it a study day to catch up - that means pajamas are in order. After picking out the most comfortable set I own, I drop my towel and go to pull my underwear on.

"Um-"

Pausing in the act of bending over, I turn at the sound to see Anna floating through the wall from the bathroom. She stops half-way out of the wall, her eyes going wide as soon as they land on me, a reddish hue bleeding into her aura like a blush. After a perplexed half-second, I stand up straight and feel my own blush starting to burn across my skin.

"Ohmygosh I'm so sorry, I did it again!"

Anna hurriedly sinks back into the wall, which makes her voice seem to emanate from nowhere.

"Why am I so bad at this? I guess it's easy to forget how to act around living people when you've been dead for a decade..."

My attention piques at the mention of how long Anna has been a spirit. While I finish dressing, I try to casually steer the conversation in that direction.

"It must be hard, but that's understandable. Social contact is important for behavioral health. Do your parents come to visit you often?"

Anna shakes her head.

"They did for the first few years, but not since the divorce. I guess life shouldn't wait for the dead."

The way she says this is matter-of-fact; but then, ten years is enough to accept a lot of things. It still brings a pang of sorrow to my chest.

"It does get lonely, but I guess there are worse fates. Um, would you mind if I, uh...?" Her request trails off.

"You can hang out here today. I need to study so I can't offer much entertainment, but you're welcome to watch TV or something."

Anna lights up like a Christmas tree.

"Ooh, it's been so long since I've seen a TV! Thank you, Elsa!"

She rushes to give me a hug, but realizes before reaching me that it would be pointless and manages to stop herself. She then grins sheepishly and stands awkwardly next to me.

"Really, thank you. It's nice to be around people again."

As I smile fondly back at Anna, it strikes me that this habit of accommodating lost spirits is going to be harder to kick than I thought.

* * *

A few hours later, I start to regret letting Anna stay. Don't get me wrong, she's a great guest and sweet as can be. It's more of a matter regarding the fact that I haven't dated in over a year, and having a cute girl who looks about my age in my bedroom is distracting, even if she is intangible and technically dead. Kristoff knows of my preference and sometimes tries to set me up with girls, but between studies and spirits, I don't have much time for dating. The unfortunate result is that two hours later I find myself watching Anna as she lies at the foot of my bed absorbed in a monster movie marathon, having only gone through two pages of my notes in all the intervening time.

I spent the first few minutes puzzling over how the bed can physically interact with her not-body and support her absence of matter and weight, but that mystery quickly took a back seat to the more pressing concern that was the curve of her shoulder visible from my vantage point. She lies on her front with her chin propped up on her palms, a slim stretch of neck and shoulder visible where her collar dips. I know it's ridiculous, but hormones will do their thing and there's nothing reason can do to stop them. When Anna glances back at me, I snap my gaze down to the notebook in my lap where I have a single line highlighted and nothing else.

"How's your studying going? Is the movie too loud?"

This is the second time she's asked if she's being bothersome or if I'm having trouble concentrating because of her. I very much am, but there's no way to say _Yes, because your butt is a work of art and if could I would touch every freckle on your body_ in a way that isn't awkward for both of us and doesn't deprive me of the view. So instead, I smile, fake-highlight the second sentence of my notes, and continue staring when she turns her undivided attention back to Godzilla.

Luckily, Kristoff is going to drop by in half an hour so we can help each other study. Left to my own devices, I could easily spend the rest of the day like this and get nothing done at all. Having a distraction from my distraction should keep me on track - I hope. It's a little embarrassing to be acting like a horny high schooler three years into college, but in my defense, math is against me when it comes to finding girls to fool around with. To put it bluntly, I'm dry as a bone.

"I should tell you that a friend of mine will be coming over soon. He was there the first time I went to your cemetery, actually."

Anna sits up and regards me thoughtfully, the movie forgotten. There's a tinge of apprehension in the set of her shoulders, but she keeps her expression neutral.

"You don't have to reveal yourself to him or anything," I assure her quickly, "But I thought it best not to surprise you when he shows up."

Just then, a knock at the door signals Kris's arrival. Anna stands up and follows wordlessly as I go to greet my best friend. When I pull the door open, the big oaf is standing there with a sly grin and a jest at the ready.

"Sleeping Beauty awakens!"

"Funny, I thought I heard my handsome prince knocking," I fire back, leaning out into the hallway to look past Kristoff in search of said prince. He laughs and clutches his hands to his heart, stumbling back a pace.

"You wound me, my queen! You words are arrows piercing my very heart!"

"Then come in and we shall remove them - and with them, that devilish heart of yours!"

We both dissolve into laughter as Kristoff follows me into the apartment. Anna watches us with an amused expression and I half-expect her to greet Kristoff then and there, but he walks on past without seeing her. I guess she doesn't intend to meet him today. I lead us to the kitchenette where text books, notebooks, and loose pages lie scattered over nearly every surface.

"You've been studying, I see," Kris comments on seeing the mess.

"Eheh, well, I've been trying." I glance at Anna, but she's too busy studying Kris like a foreign species to notice my admission that something has been thwarting my focus lately.

"Who shall we start with?" Kris asks as he takes a seat at the small dining table and starts pulling out his own notes.

"Let's review your material first."

He hands me his notebooks and I quiz him for the next hour or so. Every once in a while, I'll look up and see Anna hovering just behind him, scrutinizing him closely and intensely, her aura shifting between shades of bright lemon and sunset-orange. Not once does he suspect anything out of the ordinary. We then switch roles so Kris can quiz me, and Anna settles at the bar-style counter to watch us. She smiles whenever I provide a correct answer and I can't stop the grin tugging at my own lips. After an exhaustive two hours of intensive studying, we decide to take a break.

"So there's this girl in my chem lab," Kristoff starts.

"Yeah?" I respond apprehensively, knowing exactly where this is going.

"Yeah. Name's Miranda. She's cute. I told her about you and she seemed interested."

Behind Kris, Anna had been staring off into space, but now she perks up with renewed interest. My ears start to burn and I'm careful not to make eye contact with her.

"I-Is she?"

"She's willing to meet up with you this Saturday, if you're interested."

I process this for a moment, lips parted but unsure of what to say. Undeniable excitement bubbles up within me, but when I remember my decision to focus on studying at the exclusion of all else, the feeling cools into a guilty gurgle.

"I don't know, Kris, exams are coming up and-"

"You're going to pass, Elsa. I know you; you're sharper than you give yourself credit. One date won't kill you, but it _will_ help you keep the stress at bay. Besides," he presses when I try to argue, "I already told her you'd go, so you don't actually have a choice in the matter."

Stunned, I gap indignantly at my best friend's smug face, the guy who's always had this annoying habit of making me do things for myself when I feel too guilty to do them on my own. But he has me defeated, so all I can do is take a swipe at him for being predictable Kristoff. He doesn't even try to dodge my fist, just lets it bounce harmlessly off of his pecs.

"Just go and try to have a good time. You can always leave early if you don't like her."

"Ugh, fine. Where am I meeting her?"

"Arendelle at seven."

Arendelle, the bar downtown, is known for its strong social atmosphere. It's a good location for a date, but I've only been there once before and that was with Kristoff and the others.

Anna's expression has been unreadable throughout most of the conversation. I don't know what to think of the sudden change, until the next time I look up after we resume studying to find that she's left as suddenly as she appeared.

* * *

 **Hey readers! I'd like to thank everyone who's been following and reading so far; both statistics have shot up faster than I ever expected, which makes me so happy. Here's a longer chapter to show how much your support fuels me! I hope my portrayal of Elsa still feels like Elsa - I've added a lot of things to her character (spirit powers, knowledge of behavioral neuroscience, etc.) and I hope that I'm still portraying the things that make her Elsa. I actually re-watched the movie over the weekend to refresh my memory of the characters, so please review and let me know how I'm doing!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks for putting up with the hiatus, dear readers. I've had this chapter planned since my last one, but it was surprisingly hard to write the way I wanted it, and life stuff also kind of got in the way. So here's a Halloween treat with your favorite lil' gay glowing ghostie - it's not the happiest chapter, but I hope she brightens your holiday weekend all the same. The next one will be extra-fluff to ward off any skeletons that might be hanging around after the weekend~**

 **Happy Halloween!**

 **-yurImperial**

* * *

: : Chapter 4 : :

* * *

When I pull up to Arendelle, my dashboard clock reads 6:45 on the dot. Finding a parking space is surprisingly easy for a Saturday night, but at such a hectic time in the semester, maybe it's not so unthinkable. As I pull into the third space down from the door and disengage the engine, guilt briefly drowns even the butterflies fluttering in my stomach. Sitting back in my seat, I perform an age-old breathing exercise that has saved me from many pre-date, pre-exam breakdowns: deep breath in for two counts, out for four. I repeat this until I calm down enough to touch up my makeup with steady fingers.

I went with a sophisticated dark-toned scheme to bring out my naturally pale skin, a 'little black dress' in rich midnight blue that hugs my curves down to my knees, offset by mauve eye shadow. I check my face in the rear-view mirror for any imperfections, re-touch my lipstick to make sure it will be visible in the dimly-lit bar, finger-comb a few loose strands of hair behind my ears, and take a final stabilizing breath. A beautiful face blinks back at me: pale, mature, high cheekbones, glossy lips, dark eyes - but something still looks off. Something _feels_ off.

"'Just have a good time,' huh?"

An image of Anna lying on my bed, her rapt attention on the TV as I watch the play of light across her ethereal skin, springs from memory and I can't help but think that I would have a better time at home watching movies with - Anna? Or with any girl who shares my love of classic black-and-white films? The answer is less obvious than the question is absurd. Me with Anna? Go home, hormones, you're drunk. I mean, really; talking to ghosts is one thing, but _dating_ them? Speaking of dates, I'm reminded to check the time.

6:52. No more delaying.

Before I can find any other misgivings, I push the driver-side door open and step out into the cool dusk. My heels clack sharply on the concrete, reminding me by virtue of surprise that it's been a long time since I last went out like this. If I can barely remember how to walk in heels or what they sound like, what else am I forgetting about dating? For the past year-and-a-half, most of the new people I've met disappeared into thin air within the same night, but that doesn't happen with living people outside of truly horrendous first dates. I just can't decide which outcome I find more favorable.

Entering Arendel is like releasing the seal on a container of concentrated pheromones. Cologne, perfume, and alcohol fumes mingle into a concoction of olfactory overload, making me dizzy after only a few steps in the door. I didn't think it was possible to get a second-hand buzz, but based on what I'm feeling, it must be. Sensual lounge music plays from unseen speakers, imbuing the air with a sizzle of playful energy. The lights are not only dim, but also tinted hot-pink, giving everyone the appearance of a full-body flush. The combined experience of all these factors makes my walk up to the bar challenging and somewhat surreal.

"I'll have a brandy Alexander, please," I say to the bartender as I seat myself on a stool.

I didn't give much thought to how I would actually find my date, a mistake I only now realize as I glance around at the faces of strangers without knowing if one of them is actually her. Kristoff described her appearance to me, but in this bustling bubblegum mayhem, I wouldn't be able to tell a blond from a redhead. I start sipping at my drink as soon as it arrives, hoping that it will help me stay composed and hoping even more that it won't make matters worse. It tastes good, anyway.

It isn't until I've drained half of my glass that we finally meet.

"Elsa dear, is that you?"

I almost choke when I hear my name spoken so suddenly. I cough and splutter for several seconds, a hand over my mouth to avoid dripping on my dress, before I finally turn to address the speaker.

"Ah, yes, and you're Miranda?"

The woman hums an affirmative as she slips onto the barstool to my left and motions for the bartender. According to Kristoff, her hair is coffee brown, but in this light it looks dyed with Pepto-Bismol. She has dark, practically black almond-shaped eyes and her skin is a richer shade of pink than mine, suggesting a more melanic skin tone or at the very lest that she tans. Her dress has a long slit up one thigh and its color, though as indistinguishable as anything else in the bar, shimmers through the entire spectrum of reds as if woven with reflective scales. Just lifting herself onto the tall stool sends a wave of shimmering color racing down to her calves, drawing my eye. She follows my gaze and shoots me a coquettish smile.

"Undressing me with your eyes already? The date has only just started, dear."

She follows up with a wink, giving the impression that she doesn't at all mind my staring. I blush furiously anyway, suddenly grateful for this distorted lighting. While she orders her drink, I continue appraising her. She is actually quite petite, more so than I could initially tell; her massive curls fool the eye into thinking there's more to her than her meager stature would have you think. Her personality is also equally large, expressed by a big voice and brimming confidence. To my surprise, she casually flirts with the bartender when he hands over her drink.

"That's right, dear, I'm actually bi. But don't worry, I'm here for you tonight."

Miranda turns to me as she says this and reaches out to stroke my wrist. My throat instantly cinches tight as a delicious tingling sensation flowers over my skin.

"Now, why don't you tell me about yourself, Elsa?"

After some polite conversation, Miranda teaches me a simple dating game meant to help break the ice. Commonly known as 'Two Truths, One Lie,' the game consists of taking turns giving two facts that are true about oneself and one that is fabricated, which the other then has to guess from the three. At the end, the one with fewer correct guesses buys the winner a drink.

"I'll start us off," she says. "I have a cat named Schrodinger, Ican't stand wine, and I think you're gorgeous."

I blink in surprise. Can it really be this easy? Schrodinger is practically a cliche as far as cat names go, and pets are quite common; that wouldn't be a surprising truth. The compliments she sprinkled throughout our conversation have made it clear that she finds me attractive. I watch her sip from her glass - her third since arriving - the dark-red liquid disappearing between her lips which quirk into an impish grin.

"No fair, you're making this too easy. The lie is that you can't stand wine," I declare confidently.

"Correct," she concedes as she raises her glass. "I _adore_ wine," she lowers her glass and turns the same admiring look on me, "but I also adore you, so maybe I did go a little easy there."

I'm starting to grow numb to all the compliments Miranda lavishes on me. After a certain point, it seems like she's trying _too_ hard to act sweet. But she has had several drinks, so I let it slide and focus on coming up with my two truths and one lie.

"Let's see. I'm world-renowned for my research in behavioral neuroscience. My favorite season is winter, and I'm an only child."

Miranda toys with the stem of her fluted glass as she considers her options. One high-heeled foot bobs up and down, emphasizing the lines where her legs cross and the fabric of her dress pulls tightest.

"You look like a woman who enjoys a nice vacation on the beach," she says after a moment. "I think that winter is not your favorite season."

"I'm afraid you're wrong again. You can't tell in here, but I'm the last person who should be tanning. My skin is too pale and it just burns if I try," I say. "I _am_ studying behavioral neuroscience, but I'm far from being famous for it. That was the lie."

We continue playing our game for several more rounds with me easily leading in correct guesses; Miranda tends to greatly overestimate my qualities, making it easy to trick her with exaggerations about myself. I'm starting to find that she tends to pass compliments around like pocket change, making me feel the tiniest bit cheaper each time she does.

While I wait for Miranda to start another round of our game, a flicker of light draws my attention past her curls and glittering dress with even more radiance. Strolling right up to the bar behind her with an indomitable air of purpose is none other than Anna. Not a single head turns her way, though a visible shiver ripples through the room and a voice calls out for someone to close a window. I'm gripped by an irrational fear that Anna will notice me, so I try to hide behind my date as best I can despite our height difference. To my horror, Anna goes straight for the open seat directly beside Miranda. Just glancing at my date puts the ghost girl in my direct line of sight.

"Okay, I've got another one."

I scarcely take notice as Miranda lists off two more truths and a lie about herself. My eyes are angled slightly above and to the right of her left shoulder, fixed curiously on Anna's glowing form, her presence like a beacon for my eyes alone. She sits nonchalantly at the bar two seats down from me, yet the ghost girl resolutelyavoids my gaze and ignores my existence in general. This only heightens my curiosity so that when my date's voice comes again, I jump in surprise and nearly topple from my seat.

"Wait a second, those were all truths. Silly me."

Miranda laughs and while she considers a new set, my focus drifts again, ignoring the fact that I missed a chunk of what she said to me. Anna 's behavior seems to contradict any motive I can contemplate for her being here. I could be mistaken, but Arendel doesn't strike me as a likely hangout for her. By her own admission, Anna doesn't see people often, and the whole point in going to a bar is to socialize (or drink, but as a ghost she can't do that). I must also consider how much interest in me she's shown: appearing in my bathroom uninvited, staying to watch Kristoff and I study even though she couldn't interact. It's evident that Anna is here - in a public location where no one else can see her - because I'm here. But for what reason? And why ignore me now that she's here?

I play another round of Two Truths One Lie, but my curiosity about Anna's bizarre behavior constantly needles the back of my mind. She overheard Kris telling me about the date, where it would take place and when. She knew we would be here and so she showed up. She even chose to sit within ear-shot of us. Truthfully, I don't really know Anna very well at all yet, but my first impression was of a sweet and awkward girl, polite to a fault. To think that she would boldly spy on me during my date (if you can really call sitting in plain site of your target _spying_ ) feels incredibly jarring when I remember how skittish Anna had seemed the night we met in the graveyard.

It's obvious that I don't know enough about her.

Something Miranda says snaps me back to the conversation, making my eyes flick back to hers guiltily. She's gazing at me expectantly, waiting for my response to a question I didn't hear.

"S-Sorry, come again?"

"I asked if I could get you another drink, but it seems like you're already at your limit, dear," she says with a laugh.

It's true that my alcohol consumption is very limited (I'm a complete light-weight with the substance), but one drink wasn't enough to get me wasted already. Fortunately, Miranda's misunderstanding creates an excuse for my lapse in focus.

"I really shouldn't if I'm to drive home tonight."

Miranda pouts and something within me tightens. Something about the predatory gleam in her eyes.

"Oh? You plan to end up alone tonight?"

She leans in closer, her lips nearly brushing my cheek as she speaks into my ear.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Elsa dear, but is the point of a date not to find..." A finger trails down my thigh, igniting my nerves like a line of napalm. "Alternative sleeping arrangements?"

Floundering for a response, I find myself rendered mute. My heart beats almost painfully in my throat, and despite Anna's presence chilling the air, I'm choked by suffocating heat. I can practically feel every blood vessel in my body warping with the pressure of my racing pulse. Suddenly, everything in this place feels off, the pink light giving a garish cast to every face. Miranda looks alien and unfamiliar, her eyes too dark, her skin too unnatural-looking, her touch no longer sending thrills of warms through me. Right before my eyes, she has transformed into a terrifying dragon with shimmering scales, her fanged jaws salivating in anticipation of the meal in front of her.

"S-Sorry, ladies' room," I say quickly, ducking away from Miranda's advance and slipping off of the barstool. Without looking back, I nearly sprint across the bar for the safety of the restrooms, dodging people floating about like jellyfish in a bioluminescent sea.

After the pink lighting in the bar, the gentle white glow of fluorescent bulbs is a relief on my eyes. The normalcy of a public restroom starts pulls me out of the irrational fear gripping my chest. I go over to the sink and splash water on my face, unconcerned with its destructive effects on the makeup I had applied so carefully. What matters now is deciding what I want to do about this date.

Why did I run?

I look up at myself in the large mirror. A phantom sensation of heat grazes my thigh, threatening to pull me back into the chaotic bar with Miranda. When I picture her hungry expression, the feeling quickly transforms into an itchy irritation as if a tarantula was crawling up my leg. I have to fight down the urge to check if the sensation is real. My hands ball into fists on the counter-top to keep them still.

Didn't I come here tonight to feel the touch of another person? Why did it feel so _wrong?_

As I slowly regain my composure, the stifling heat encompassing me slowly starts to dissipate. It feels like someone opened a window and let in a much-needed draft. I sigh as the temperature seems to drop from boiling mid-summer heat to late-autumn chill. When a shiver travels up my spine, it breaks me out of my thoughts and I finally look back up at my surroundings.

Staring back at me in the mirror is Anna, her back pressed protectively against the wall opposite the sinks. The scene reminds me eerily of our meeting in my apartment, the wonder and hesitation plain in her wide eyes, though now a darker emotion lurks beneath the surface like a shadow. My chest is full to bursting with all the things I want to say, but I'm afraid that the slightest movement will send her fleeing into the night. I have to approach this delicately, like I did with Olaf.

Unable to bear the tightness in my chest any longer, I turn around to face her - but Anna is already gone.

Light blue tiles stare back at me from where she stood moments ago. Swirling inside me is a confusing mix of emotions for the ghost girl that upset me more than they should when I hardly know her. Maybe it was my imagination; maybe I've just been thinking about her so much that I hallucinated her appearance tonight. The thought that she might not have been here after all saddens me even more.

She's just a ghost. I have to keep reminding myself of that. She's never _really_ here. Not in the way that Miranda is here. Whatever happens betweens Anna and I, she's going to disappear in the end. Ghosts don't belong in this world. Anna doesn't belong with me.

Neither, I feel, does Miranda.

Sighing, I dab at my smeared makeup while planning how I'll break it to her, but in the end I come up with nothing and only slightly improve the makeup situation. Wanting to just get home and forget about the whole night, I push my way back into the main room with heavy heart and leaden legs. The place has mostly cleared out, only a few dateless stragglers remaining with their drinks. I spot Miranda before reaching our place at the bar, her shimmering form leaning over the counter as she flirts with the bartender. She seems to have forgotten all about me already, so I feel no guilt as I turn for the door and leave this pink irradiated wasteland for good.

However, I do feel a large amount of disappointment as I drive home, like usual, to an empty apartment and an empty bed.


End file.
